


A Haven, Shattered

by notyourparadigm



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Attack on Haven, Background - Freeform, Gen, Writing Sample
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:28:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27129239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notyourparadigm/pseuds/notyourparadigm
Summary: This was written as a writing sample for Asher Trevelyan for theDragon Age: LegacyRoleplay Universe. Thought I'd share it here anyways just for ease for access.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	A Haven, Shattered

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a writing sample for Asher Trevelyan for the _Dragon Age: Legacy_ Roleplay Universe. Thought I'd share it here anyways just for ease for access.

The music that filled the bailey outside Haven was swallowed by the clanging of the Chantry’s bells. There was no melody in the sound, but a call, a warning, one cried out from man to man, woman to woman, as the people of Haven dropped their drinks or stood from their rest.

_‘Forces approaching! To arms!’_

_‘Forces approaching! To arms!’_

_‘Forces approaching! To arms!’_

The call of the alarm, and the reprise of the bells, and at once Haven was not filled with boisterous laughter and music, but upheaved into a frenzy, crowds gathering and breaking as they clashed against one another, each running a different direction, each calling out different questions and commands.

_‘Arm yourselves! Lances and blades at the armory!`_

_‘‘Civilians inside the walls!’_

_‘Archers, to me! To the battlements!’_

Terror was falling upon Haven, and Asher found himself scrambling into his platemail, unnerved by the familiarity of the chaos. The calm so rapidly turned to confusion, the disbelief melting into fear, the soldiers glancing at each other with the same wide-eyed look. The Knight-Lieutenant had worn the same expression as the youngest of the Ostwick templars readied themselves to face the demons pouring out of the new rift in the sky, hanging above where a temple once stood.

The southern path seemed almost like a second sky, with lights dotting out from the darkness like constellations, but they did not just flicker in place. The columns of individual flames crept down the mountainside, like a river cutting through the Frostback mountains where the familiar trail had once been, overflowing the only passage to the settlement. 

The only passage _out_ of the settlement. 

Asher was not sure how long he had been frozen there staring, awestruck and captivated at watching the procession of soldiers file down the mountains. It took a hand on his shoulder, dragging him towards the main gate for Asher to remember his other senses too, and to realize that the man had been yelling at him.

“ _Templars to the vanguard_!” He hissed through clenched teeth. Asher should have recognized a face, should remembered a name, but instead found his mind blank. He recognized the armour, though— Fereldan in style, different from that in Ostwick, but the ornamentations on the pauldrons and waistcloth delivered the same message.

“Knight-Lieutenant.” Saying the title helped calm Asher as he fell in line behind the Fereldan officer. At the Divine Conclave, the Knight-Commander and Knight-Captains had all died in the explosion. They were forced to take charge on their own, segmented, weak, and hesitant without leadership. Perhaps a leader would have ordered them to fall back sooner, before the demons had overwhelmed them, before retreat was no longer an option.

This time, retreat did not exist. 

But this time they had leaders. 

As they passed under the main gate, he could see the Commander on the battlements, soldiers hovering around him like bees, darting to and fro, one running off just in time for another to run in and take their place. He turned to each with a gesture to their intended destination, pointing back towards the chantry, then to the ramparts, then to the trebuchets, before finally turning attention turned to the frontlines. Asher fell into line among the tidy rows of templars, who themselves were flanked by hosts of Inquisition soldiers, all in massive armours of plate or chainmail emblazoned with the sword-and-eye of the Inquisition.

“Our first priority is to hold our defenses!” The commander’s voice cut through the mutterings in the ranks, the troops falling silent. “The trebuchets must _not_ catch fire at all costs! Their frontlines are heavily armoured. They will try to keep us occupied as their archers and mages attack from a distance. The van _must_ break that line! We must overwhelm the mages before they can cripple our artillery!”

The Captains of the forces to the left and the right began to bark their own details of the attack, and the Orlesian Knight-Captain the front of their own host did the same. Asher tried to listen, but the words fell on his ears as a nearly unintelligible drone, and he could only make out a few of the familiar words and phrases—

‘— _stagger and purge—’_ ’ 

_‘—lyrium shield—’_

_‘—drain mana supply —’_

He knew the tactics. Fundamental templar concepts— defend. Overwhelm. Cleanse. Disrupt. Survive the initial assault, and then exploit their weaknesses. 

The templars began to arrange themselves, those wielding the emblazoned Sun-Shields at the fore of the host, and the archers in their robes of leather and silks falling to the rear. Asher was shuffled in the movement as well, being pulled to the front alongside a sea of claymores, battleaxes, and a few of the dagger-wielding hunters he knew would be quick to disappear in the wake of that sea, once the battle started. He tried to repeat the orders he had just been given, tried to visualize the plan, but lost himself in the sight of the advancing legion, no longer dots of lights, but an army. A true army, marching in unison, towards them.

Asher had heard tales of grand battles. He knew himself, too. He was a trained templar, who had cleared caverns of entire communes of hiding bandits and apostates with only four brothers at his side. He was a capable warrior, having studied in combat long before joining the Order, excelling in one-on-one duels against the other noble lords at Ostwick. 

But this wasn’t a handful of apostates, nor a group of bandits, and it most certainly wasn’t an honorable duel. It was havoc that was marching towards them, devastation awaiting their contact. This was _warfare_. Templars weren’t trained for warfare. Especially not the hopeless kind.

He was going to die here, wasn’t he?

They were all going to die here. The Inquisition was not an army, and Haven was not a fortress. They were sheep for the slaughter, and Haven was their pen. Surely, everyone else felt it too.

The faces around him suggested as much. Even the most stoic-faced among the forces were betrayed by the panic in their eyes, the sweat on their brow, the tremor that possessed the weapon in their hands. 

The Knight-Templar to his left was not even bothering to hide his fear. He was staring at nothing, terrified and muttering under his breath. Asher knew the words. He had been taught to recite them by heart. Yet in the man’s shaking voice, it was as if he was truly hearing them for the first time.

> “My Creator, judge me whole:  
> Find me well within Your grace.   
> Touch me with fire that I be cleansed.   
> Tell me I have sung to Your approval.”

He could feel the lyrium begin to stir in his veins, thrumming, and focusing on the sound was calming, almost intoxicating. With each breath the warmth rose and fell, and he could find his centre in the familiar cycle. 

When the vanguard crashed upon Corypheus’ forces, the air was alive with sound again, the chiming of steel upon steel, the cries of battle and pain and horror, and the lyrium sang beneath it all, beneath his skin, and the words on his lips sang in its rhythm:

> “O Maker, hear my cry:  
> Seat me by Your side in death.  
> Make me one within Your glory.”


End file.
